


Disposable

by Vertiga



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Body Image, Depression, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Flying, Gen, Gun Violence, Isolation, Non-Binary Caleb, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Geoff built the Fake AH Crew from nothing, but now Geoff has Ryan as his right-hand man. Why would he need Jack?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘Jack, where the fuck are you?’ Geoff yells, shrill and grating over her headset.

‘Landing in two minutes,’ Jack shoots back, wrestling the chopper through the vicious crosswinds between the skyscrapers of downtown Los Santos.

‘They’re lighting us up, get down here!’ Ryan yells.

Jack grits her teeth and dumps the collective, dropping far faster than is safe, responding to the fear in their voices as quickly as she can.

She lands so hard the chopper bounces, skids flexing and splaying out on the concrete, and if it was hers she might give a shit about the damage. As it is, the chopper only has to last long enough to get the crew out. Her own bones getting rattled out of place barely matters more, even if the impact sends red-hot pain through the fresh bullet wound in her upper left arm. She’ll live; her crew might not if she doesn’t get to them fast enough.

Geoff and Ryan run full-tilt for the helicopter, bags of cash slung across their chests, while Michael covers their retreat with vicious bursts of minigun fire. He backs up the street, eyes on the police he’s pinning behind their riot vans, until he’s close enough for Geoff to haul him bodily into the chopper.

‘Go! Go!’ Ryan shouts, as though she isn’t smart enough to figure that out for herself, as though they aren’t already getting light on the ruined skids.

They take off like a rocket, redlining the engine for maximum climb speed as the first volleys of bullets clatter and ping against the belly of the chopper.

‘What the fuck took so long?’ Geoff demands, when he’s pulled on a noise-cancelling headset. ‘We nearly got fucking killed!’

‘There were a lot of guys who didn’t want me to take the chopper,’ Jack replies, swinging them around to head for the hills. ‘It took a while to fight through them.’

‘Boo hoo, did you see how many guys we had down there? Make it faster next time,’ Geoff says.

Jack bites her tongue on a sarcastic ‘Yes, boss.’ It won’t help anything. Geoff’s right anyway – she should have been faster. She put all of them in danger by being late to the rendezvous. Her wounded arm throbs against her hasty bandages, but she keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t have the right to complain.

‘Jeremy, Gavin, are you clear?’ Ryan asks over the comms.

‘All clear,’ Jeremy says. ‘Heading up the coast, we’ll see you there.’

‘You should see the view, boi,’ Gavin crows, over a rush of wind noise. ‘There’s nothing like driving with the top down.’

‘We’re two thousand feet above you, moron. I bet our view is better,’ Michael replies. He sounds a little out of breath from adrenaline and lugging his minigun around, but he doesn’t sound hurt. None of them do.

 _Guess I got lucky,_ Jack thinks.

The sun is going down in pink and gold over the ocean to their left, and it really is a gorgeous view. Jack ignores it, keeping her eyes moving, sweeping over the sky and her instruments in a constant pattern. Like hell are they going to crash because she took time off to watch the goddamn sunset.

~

No one says another word to Jack until after they’ve landed at the desert airstrip. The damaged skids shriek and groan as she settles them on the packed dirt as carefully as she can. 

Jeremy and Gavin are waiting, leaning indolently on the hoods of two powerful cars, and they cheer as Geoff throws open the side door of the chopper.

‘Did you get your half?’ Geoff asks, when he’s far enough from the thudding chopper blades to be heard.

‘Hell yeah we did,’ Jeremy says, going to the back seat of his car and pulling out a huge black duffel bag.

Geoff’s face lights up at the confirmation that both halves of the heist money are safe.

‘We’re filthy fucking rich, boys!’ he crows, and the crew whoops and hollers in response. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘You got it, boss,’ Jeremy says, ushering Geoff into the passenger side of his muscle car. 

Michael piles into the passenger side of Gavin’s two-seat convertible, and Ryan takes the back seat in Jeremy’s car. They slam the doors and start their engines before Jack is halfway finished shutting down the helicopter. The engine is idle, but the blades are still spinning at almost full speed.

‘Jack, go and dump the chopper. You’ve trashed it anyway,’ Geoff orders over the comms, and then the two cars peel away, roaring up the airstrip in a cloud of grit and dust.

Jack watches them go, hands clenched tightly on the controls, feeling the juddering vibrations of the slowing blades rattle her whole body, and then turns on the engine again. It’s probably not safe to start up again without fully spinning down, but she doesn’t particularly care. The helicopter only has to get her to somewhere suitably remote before the damn thing falls out of the sky.

As soon as she has a moment and a free hand, she yanks the comm out of her ear and turns it off, letting it dangle uselessly over her collar. She doesn’t think she can take hearing the gleeful conversation the others will be having on their way home.

She flies out over the Alamo Sea and ditches the chopper in deep water, swimming out and letting it sink without a trace as she treads water, gritting her teeth as the stinging salt soaks straight through the bandage on her arm.

It’s only a few hundred yards to shore, but it feels like a lot further with one arm all but useless for swimming.

At least it’s warm on the gravelly beach, and she isn’t shivering too hard as she calls Lindsay, hoping she’ll answer. God knows no one else will.

‘Hey, can I get a pickup?’ she asks, when Lindsay’s bright voice greets her. ‘South side of the lake, near the old motel.’

‘Sure can, boss lady,’ Lindsay chirps, and Jack hears the jingle of keys. ‘Be there in half an hour.’

Jack hangs up, relieved that some of the younger crew still do as she says, even if the rest don’t give a fuck about her any more.

She sits on a crumbled wall in the fading sunlight and tries not to pick at her wounded arm. There’s still a bullet in there, she’s pretty sure, but the filthy side of the lake isn’t the place to start trying to dig it out. She’ll be damn lucky if she doesn’t catch something from the polluted water as it is.

It’s dark and getting cold by the time Lindsay arrives, and Jack is sure she looks like a lake monster looming out of the dark when she hurries to the car.

‘Jesus Christ, it’s cold,’ she says, slamming the door and reaching for the heat.

‘You’re soaked,’ Lindsay says, looking at her wide-eyed as she cranks the heater.

‘I’ll cover getting your car seat cleaned, don’t worry,’ Jack says at once.

Lindsay pauses, looking at her shivering form curled up in the seat. There’s a thin trail of blood seeping down her arm. ‘It’s fine, just, are you okay?’

Jack huffs. She knows Lindsay means well, but at this point it kind of feels like a mockery to be asked.

‘I ditched into the lake, I just need to warm up. Drop me home?’

‘Penthouse express, at your service,’ Lindsay says, and puts the car smoothly into gear.

~

Jack is quiet on the journey, letting Lindsay chatter as she wants, but she thanks her sincerely when Lindsay drops her outside the apartment block.

The elevator responds to her key and takes her straight up to the penthouse, opening the doors smoothly and silently.

Jack can see the crew gathered on the couches, bottles of booze cluttering the table where they’ve started the post-heist party without her. They’re all laughing as Michael relates some over-the-top version of his part in the job, finger-guns flying as he glacks through a crowd of imagined foes.

Jack slinks past unnoticed and goes to her room.

Shut away in her bathroom, she pulls out her formidable first-aid kit, a huge green case which has been emptied and refilled a hundred times in service of the Fake AH. It’s hardly the first time someone has caught a bullet, and she knows the drill. Tweezers, alcohol, skin glue, gauze pads, bandages. She lays them in a row on the counter-top, using the bright lamp above the mirror to light her work. 

When she peels back the rushed, wet field dressing the wound looks ugly and swollen, a ragged divot in her flesh. Purple-black bruising has already spread six inches in every direction, leaving a solid band around her upper arm. With the pressure of the bandage gone, blood leaks steadily from the wound, tracing a thin scarlet line to her elbow before it drips into the sink. 

Her hands shake, pain and adrenaline sending her heart bounding in her chest, and it’s a struggle to keep her fingers steady enough to dig the bullet out of her biceps. Digging into her own flesh makes her feel sick and shivery, her body rebelling against the invasion. She shudders and accidentally stabs the tweezers into exposed muscle several times, biting down a cry every time. 

The rest of the crew are making a lot of noise, but they’ll certainly hear her if she screams. They don’t need to see this. She can’t take the comments on her incompetence tonight.

When she’s finally done, she drops the snub-nosed bullet and the tweezers in the bloodied sink with a clink that sounds too light for something that hurts so much. 

She braces herself on the edge of the counter and pours alcohol into the wound, standing with muscles locked and jaw clamped shut until the rush of fire recedes enough to let her breathe again. 

Her eyes well and sting, tears threatening to fall, but she doesn’t cry. Not even when she looks in the mirror and sees her pain-wracked face, her shaking figure standing alone in a bathroom that suddenly feels too large and lonely. 

Her bones are iron, compressing and compressing under the growing weight. Soon they will turn to steel, or shatter.

~

If she had to pick out the moment when it began to go wrong, it would be the day the Vagabond took off his mask. The day the Vagabond became Ryan, and Ryan became Geoff’s new best friend, and Jack’s golden days were over.

It’s been a slow, inexorable takeover, so gentle that Jack is never even sure if Ryan is pushing her out deliberately, but in the end the result is the same. Little by little, she’s losing her place in the crew she built from nothing. 

Jack is shunted into smaller jobs, works alone for the most part, and even though she’s their getaway for every major heist, there’s no sense of camaraderie any more. Even the riskiest flying earns no more than general comments.

It’s always “That was fucking awesome!” “We totally did a barrel roll over the cops!” and never “Jack, you’re awesome” “Jack, that barrel roll was badass!” They talk as if she isn’t there, and she never seems to be included in the post heist high.

She stole a chopper, got shot doing it, flew like a maniac to pull the crew out of the line of fire, then performed a dangerous ditch into a lake and dug a bullet out of her own arm, but that night she falls asleep without a single word of concern or congratulation. 

The faint sounds of celebration echo through the thick walls of the penthouse, and Jack curls up in bed, tired and in pain, and wonders if it’s worth trying to leave.

The trouble is, even if the others don’t care anymore, they plainly still need her. No one else flies like Jack, and she can’t leave them with anyone but the best. They don’t care, but Jack cares about them. Clever, silly Gavin and fiery Michael and fresh-faced, bright-eyed Jeremy, and even Ray, off on his own for the most-part. It still makes her smile when she hears how well he’s doing.

As for Geoff – not so long ago Geoff felt like an extension of herself. They spent so long as a pair, fighting tooth and nail for their own corner of the city, building and growing and taking in the best and brightest people they could find until the Fake AH Crew became a powerhouse that ruled undisputed in Los Santos. 

Jack’s heart hurts now, looking back on it. They’ve shed a lot of blood, a lot of it their own, but through it all they were inseparable. Geoff used to discuss every plan with Jack, valuing her opinions and advice, and in the quiet times they curled up together and watched shitty comedies and heckled the dumb plots.

Thinking back, Jack realises with a pang that she hasn’t been included in heist planning for almost six months, and it’s been even longer since she and Geoff have just hung out together. She can’t remember the last time Geoff even spoke to her kindly. It’s all curt instructions and criticism when she isn’t fast enough, isn’t good enough. She is never good enough.

Jack buries her face in the pillow, feeling despair swirl hollow in her chest. 

She is the best pilot, they need her for that, but for everything else she isn’t good enough. Ryan is a better, more ruthless killer than she will ever be. Ryan is more effortlessly intimidating in negotiations. Ryan is prepared to torture and maim for information, something Jack has never been able to stomach. 

Ryan beat Jack’s scores in every single Xbox game within a week of moving into the penthouse, taking over as Geoff’s co-op partner by simple virtue of being better in every way. Even in games, Jack wants Geoff to have the best team, so she’d stepped aside without a word. She can’t remember the last time she even picked up a controller.

In fact, it feels like she can’t remember much of what she’s done for entertainment in the last six months. It’s all a drifting haze of solo jobs and silence, harsh words and bitter, hidden hurt. 

Jack’s hanging onto her place in the crew by a thread, she knows that, and she’s become a ghost in their home in an effort to give them no reason to cut her loose. If she’s quiet, if she’s helpful, if she can keep her fuck-ups hidden, then maybe she won’t lose everything she helped to build.

 _Maybe if I try harder,_ she thinks, feeling her arm throb tightly in time with her thready pulse.

She falls asleep still listening to the crew celebrating outside.

~

She’s sluggish and dull with bloodloss in the morning, getting out of bed to get a glass of water from the bathroom and then curling up under her comforter to try and sleep off her headache.

Her doze is interrupted some time before lunch by a sharp rap of knuckles on her door. She comes awake with a start as it swings open.

Ryan is standing in the doorway, golden hair pulled back into a stylish bun, his smooth face bare of make-up.

‘Did I wake you?’ he asks, pausing at the sight of her, dishevelled and grey.

Jack sits up too fast, sets her head spinning and fights to hide the sudden dizziness.

‘No, it’s fine,’ she says. ‘What do you need?’

Ryan pauses for a moment, then apparently decides to take her words at face value.

‘I was wondering, could you teach me to fly?’ he asks.

Ice cold dread sears through Jack’s guts, waking her up despite her illness.

‘What?’ she croaks out.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask for a while,’ Ryan says with a shrug. ‘Seems like it’d be useful if I could. Helicopters and planes, all the stuff you do.’

Jack tries to breathe evenly, something in her head wailing in despair.

 _It’s over,_ she thinks. _Perhaps he’ll be terrible at it, and they’ll still need me,_ she thinks. _Who am I kidding? Ryan is perfect. He’s probably going to be a better pilot than I am._ And quietly, desperately, she thinks, _At least then I’ll know they still have the best._

‘Sure,’ she manages to say, just as Ryan starts to look restless. ‘I can do that. Just tell me when.’

‘How about today?’ Ryan says, smiling triumphantly. ‘I’ve got a helicopter ready for us at the Marina.’

Jack wants to cry. There’s no way in hell she’s fit to fly, but it’s not like she can say no. Geoff will just scowl and say vicious, cutting things about pulling her (excessive) weight and doing what’s best for the crew. If they’ve finally decided to replace her, there’s no point in trying to delay.

‘Yeah, okay,’ she says hollowly. ‘Give me a few minutes?’

Ryan nods and all but bounces out of the room, looking like Gavin at the promise of fireworks to play with. It’s easy to be pleased by his enthusiasm, even as she hates its cause.  
That’s the trouble with Ryan a lot of the time – he’s incredibly easy to like. Even as he’s pushed her out of her own crew, taken her place at Geoff’s right hand, Jack can’t quite seem to hate him.

She drags herself out of bed and into the shower, leaning against the tiled wall and letting cool water clear her head. She’s weak and shivery, but all in all she could be feeling worse. She’s certainly flown in worse condition when she’s had no other choice.

 _Water and energy bars and I’ll be fine for a couple of hours at least,_ she thinks as she gets out of the shower. Her arm burns and refuses to move properly when she tries to reach up and towel dry her hair, and she can’t help but wince. Handling the collective isn’t going to be fun, and she can only hope whatever helicopter Ryan has lined up has good hydraulics to ease her way.

~

To her relief, Ryan drives, giving her time to drink a bottle of water and force down two protein-heavy energy bars. 

Ryan glances sidelong at her as she scarfs down the food, but he’s kind enough not to comment on her disgustingness. Jack doesn’t think she could take it this morning.  
Her stomach is rolling, but she doesn’t think she’s going to be sick just yet.

 _At least a beginners’ lesson won’t require much in the way of extreme manoeuvres,_ she thinks, hoping that Ryan’s early attempts to hover won’t throw them around too much.

She forces herself into teaching mode as she does her pre-flight inspection, making sure to talk Ryan through everything she does. Ryan shadows her as she walks around the helicopter, checking for blade delamination and skid damage, popping open the engine hatch to look for frayed lines and fatigue cracks in the engine block. 

Jack tries to find a balance between moving slowly enough for Ryan to see what she’s doing and moving so slowly that he thinks she’s incompetent. It feels like she’s moving too slowly. She flies stolen helicopters so often that she’s used to having all of a minute for checks before she has to take off.

Ryan is attentive, asking insightful questions, and Jack feels slow and stupid as she tries to answer him. She’s not at the top of her game, that’s for sure.

When she starts up the chopper, the thrum of the engine and the accelerating blades batters through her, and her arm seems to hurt even more than it had when she’d been freshly shot. 

She wishes that she’d taken some stronger painkillers, but it’s been drummed into her too thoroughly that she must never fly under the influence. For all that she mostly flies illegally, her licence is 100% legitimate, and she still remembers the horror stories her flight instructor told about pilots who flew drunk or drugged and killed everyone on board. He’d have a fit at her flying in this state as it is, never mind if she was loopy on opiates at the same time.

The lesson is mercifully short. They spend most of it trying to get Ryan to hover, Jack’s hands and feet light on the second set of controls, ready to step in when Ryan’s action and reaction gets out of control. He’s over-correcting, like every other novice, and they swing and turn wildly, a few feet over the asphalt of the helipad. 

Jack fights down nausea and keeps them clear of the ground, determined not to let Ryan crash. They’d probably be fine, going at zero speed so close to the ground, but if they roll over there’s always the chance of a spinning blade cutting through the top of the cockpit. 

Ryan is her replacement, but she likes him anyway, and he’s part of her crew. It’s a point of pride to keep him safe. 

The chopper they’re using is big and stable, much more forgiving than the squirrelly Robinsons that Jack learned with, and by mid afternoon Ryan is managing a relatively successful hover.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he says eventually, after landing them with a jarring but not dangerous thud. ‘I have other business to sort out today.’

Jack nods. ‘You shouldn’t fly too long to start with anyway. It’s very tiring to learn.’

Ryan grins. ‘I feel great though.’

Jack doesn’t, but she’s not cruel enough to rain on his parade.

‘You’re doing really well. You’re a natural at this,’ she says, and the words feel like reaching into her own chest and pulling something out. It hurts even more because they’re true. Ryan is as good at this as he is at everything else.

‘Same again tomorrow?’ Ryan says.

‘Sure,’ Jack says. ‘Let me show you how to shut her down.’

Ryan watches her go through the proper process, but as soon as she’s pulled the rotor brake and the blades have stopped he undoes his seatbelt.

‘I really have to go. Thanks, Jack,’ he says, shooting her a grin. He reaches over and gives her a friendly punch in the arm. Her left arm. Right over the glue-sealed bullet wound.

Jack chokes on a scream, manages to turn it into a cough, and stays upright only because her seatbelt is still pinning her in place.

‘You’re welcome,’ she manages, but Ryan’s already hopping out of the chopper, not looking at her.

His door swings shut and he walks away.

Jack watches him move swiftly and gracefully back to his green and black Zentorno. He gets in the car and pulls out of the lot, disappearing up the ramp with a squeal of tires. It’s the second time in twenty-four hours that Jack has been left behind, and the urge to scream with hurt and frustration rises, sudden and cloying in her throat.

Ryan has apparently forgotten that he drove them to the heliport, and Jack doesn’t have a car to get home.

 _He’s busy. He has more important things to remember,_ Jack reminds herself, taking a minute to just breathe through her pain and resentment. She unclips her seatbelt and climbs out, leaving the keys in the ignition where she’d found them.

She checks her phone, but no one has set her any further tasks. The day after a heist is always quiet.

No one needs her for a little while, so she ambles away from the heliport, circling the marina towards the beach. There are plenty of surfers out in the water, but the beach is relatively quiet, and she sits down on the sand, staring out to sea. She’s cold and in pain, and the sun feels good on her skin. The warm breeze is like a gentle touch, brushing her fiery hair away from her face, and Jack closes her eyes and leans into it, feeling pathetic for enjoying a simple sensation so much. 

The crew rough-house constantly, and sprawl all over each other on the couches when they watch movies, but she isn’t included in those evenings very often these days. It feels like it’s been a long time since anyone touched Jack in a way that didn’t cause her pain. She was once pleased that her chubby frame was such a favoured pillow, reasoning that at least it was good for something, but it seems no one even wants to use her to lie on anymore.

Her phone rings, jerking her out of a miserable contemplation of how little time she has before Ryan will no longer need flying lessons.

Gavin’s smiling face lights up her screen, and she accepts the call, forcing a bright tone of voice.

‘Hey, Gav.’

‘Are you out?’ Gavin asks.

‘Yeah, I’m at the beach, what’s up?’

‘Can you bring back a couple of bottles of whiskey? Geoff hit it hard last night, and our supply is looking pretty mingy.’

Jack nods, even though she knows Gavin can’t see. ‘Sure, yeah, I’ll get some.’

‘Lovely Jack,’ Gavin coos, and Jack’s gut clenches at how good that simple endearment feels. ‘Hurry home, I’m dying of thirst.’

‘Wilco,’ Jack promises, and Gavin hangs up.

Jack heaves herself to her feet with a sigh, and trudges across the shifting sand to the main rank of beach-front shops. One of them is a liquor store, and it doesn’t take long to pick up half a dozen bottles of single-malt. 

She even shows the clerk her (fake) ID and pays for her liquor like a normal person – there’s no sense in robbing the place when she doesn’t have a getaway vehicle. There’s no way she’s escaping on foot today.

She flags down a cab and slumps in the backseat as the driver chatters about how he’s going to make it big in movies. It feels like it takes an eternity to get back to the penthouse.

Ryan is already home when she gets there, whatever business he had to take care of already completed, and he’s standing in the kitchen with Geoff, holding forth on his successful flying lesson as Geoff cooks.

Jack lines up five of the bottles of whiskey on the breakfast bar, the clink of glass drawing Geoff’s attention for a second before he turns back to Ryan. Neither of them look at her, and it sounds like Ryan is talking about some faceless, nameless instructor giving him the lesson. Jack might as well not have been there at all.

She takes the last bottle into the living room, where Jeremy, Michael and Gavin are furiously battling it out in Mariokart. She sets the whiskey on the side-table where Gavin will find it when he has a moment to look, and leaves them to it.

Teaching is exhausting, and she’s too tired to even heed the growling of her stomach at the savoury scent of the salmon Geoff is pan-frying with garlic. He probably isn’t cooking for her anyway. Crew dinners don’t usually include her anymore, and she takes it as equal proof that they don’t want her company and they don’t think she should be eating.

She goes back to her room and closes the door, kicking her shoes off and curling up in bed. Even under the comforter, she feels cold.

~

Jack gives Ryan flying lessons every day he asks, fitting in her own work for the crew around his more important tasks. Ryan’s flying in both helicopters and planes improves in leaps and bounds, and he’s delighted by his lessons, always grinning and bouncing as he tells Geoff about them. 

Jack slides around the edges of the narrative, keeping her head down and struggling silently with her burning resentment. She’s proud of him for doing so well, but she knows her own days are numbered, and growing ever shorter. 

She starts looking at single-bedroom apartments in the city, then wonders if she even wants to stay in Los Santos on her own. Ray hasn’t moved away, but he left by choice, not because the crew didn’t want him around. Jack might not be welcome to stay.

~

In the weeks running up to Christmas, Gavin and Geoff plan an elaborate heist, constantly conferring with each other and the rest of the crew.

Jack gets her instructions by text message the day before the plan goes down.

>>Ryan is flying, you just be outside the 6th Street bank at noon and keep the cops off us if they show up early.

Jack reads the message with a sinking sensation in her gut. Cop patrol is simultaneously the least pivotal and most dangerous job of a heist, depending on the LSPD response time on any given day. Jack can shoot, but she’s not an unstoppable force like Ryan or Michael. She’s never been stationed on the street like this before, but it makes sense that they need someone to take Ryan’s place as their wandering gun. Of course it’s her – Ryan has taken her usual place. 

She briefly contemplates asking for some other task, but she imagines Geoff’s scathing response and can’t bring herself to do it. If the LSPD are caught napping, she’ll be fine, she’ll just have nothing to do. If they’re on their toes, there’s a good chance that Jack will die.

 _No greater chance than there is for anyone else,_ she thinks, but even in her head the words ring hollow. She’s not made for mowing through cops like some of the crew are. Too many of them will overwhelm her.

 _Perhaps that’s the plan,_ she thinks, and can’t decide if it’s fear or sadness that makes her want to curl up and hide. It might be easier to die than be told to leave because the Fake AH Crew don’t need her anymore. She’s trained her replacement as best she can, and they’ll be in good hands. Perhaps she’s done everything she was meant for.

She swallows her feelings and types a brief reply:

>>Wilco. 

If it’s her final statement, she thinks it’s a fitting one. For almost a year she’s silently done everything they’ve asked and more, and it still hasn’t been enough.

~

Los Santos always looks incongruous at Christmas, the fairy lights and snow-themed décor at odds with the palm trees and bright, relentless sunshine. There’s not much holiday spirit in the air, but people are hurrying about making their final purchases anyway. Jack hopes the police are equally distracted by the thrill of Christmas Eve.

It’s a smart time to rob a bank. Most of the shops have handed in bumper takings from the holiday shopping rush, and it’s the last opportunity before the bank closes down for Christmas.

Jack lurks in a car half a block from the 6th Street bank, listening to the sparse chatter over her comm as the heist begins.

For a while, it seems to be going smoothly, Michael snarling threats at the cashiers while Gavin cracks the vault and Geoff and Jeremy keep everyone’s heads down.

‘Bloody hell, there must be four million dollars in here,’ Gavin exclaims happily, just as Jack spots a flash of blue light in her rear-view mirror.

‘We’ve got cops, make it quick,’ she warns.

She takes a deep breath, checking her rifle and her spare ammunition, then gets out of the car and faces off against the incoming police.

Her opening salvo punches through the windshield of the first car, sending the driver’s blood spraying across the inside of the glass. The car swerves and goes careening into the side of a building.

After that, it’s a blur of firing, ducking for cover and reloading, watching the number of wrecked cop cars keep growing until they’re blocking off the street. Apparently the LSPD are pretty pissed at having their holiday threatened. They seem to be sending every cop in the city after her. That suits Jack just fine; let them get in their own way.

‘I’m incoming,’ Ryan says, and the door of the bank bursts open right as the sound of helicopter blades reaches deafening levels.

The crew rush out of the bank and run for the helicopter, weighed down by obscene amounts of cash. They’re all wearing Santa hats over their masks, because of course they are, the Fake AH are incapable of taking anything seriously, including themselves. The little white bobbles swing wildly as they run.

Jack sees Ryan make a perfect landing in the street beside them, sending a jolt of pride through her before she has to turn away and keep firing on the swarming police cars.

The helicopter lifts away, disappearing over the rooftops to a chorus of cheering from its inhabitants.

‘Heist over, boys, let’s go home!’ Geoff says triumphantly.

Jack takes that as her cue that they don’t need covering fire anymore. She empties one last clip into the blockade, then jumps into her car. As soon as the engine starts she puts her foot flat on the floor, tires spinning and screeching as she pulls away.

She can hear the ping and thud of bullets peppering the back of her car, but she’s almost at the corner. She’ll be out of sight soon enough.

She jerks forward in her seat as something punches her in the back, forcing the air out of her lungs.

She swerves round the corner on pure instinct, keeps driving because to stop is to die.

There is a line of fire across her back, three white-hot points tracing a line of pain that makes it a struggle to inhale. Her vision wavers, but she keeps her foot flat on the gas, praying for open roads.

She gasps in air, just enough to stop herself from passing out, and turns onto the ocean highway with a squeal of tires, leaving a long streak of rubber across the intersection.

‘I’m hit,’ she says, and the words won’t come out any louder than a whisper. With the noise of the helicopter in their ears, there’s not much chance of the crew hearing her.

 _They aren’t listening anyway, they wanted me to die,_ she thinks, and feels tears prickle in her eyes.

It hurts so much. At least one of the bullets is lodged in her lung, and it’s so hard to breathe. She drives out of sheer stubborn habit, getting as far from the scene of the crime as she can. 

When her vision is black and spotted at the edges, and she’s sure no one is following, she pulls off the road into a viewpoint.

It’s a calm day, the ocean spread out like a rippling sheet of blue-green silk ahead of her. She hits a button on her steering wheel and winds the windows down, letting the faint breeze carry the fresh scent of salt into her car. 

Jack knows there’s no point in trying to get anywhere. Better to die on the heist than live when she wasn’t supposed to. At least she isn’t struggling and afraid, in the merciless hands of the police. It’s quiet, and the beautiful view will be the last thing she sees.

‘I don’t know why I wasn’t good enough,’ she says, fighting for the words. There are tears pouring down her face, and maybe the crew aren’t even listening, but she wants to speak her piece before the end. She’s spent so long in silence.

‘I promise I tried, but I was never good enough, was I? I only ever wanted the best for you, and if that means Ryan, not me, then I understand.’ A wave of pain rolls through her and her breath hitches. ‘I understand that I’m supposed to die. That’s okay, there’s nothing left for me to do. He’ll keep you safe, Geoff,’ she whispers. 

She shifts in her seat and sucks in a harsh breath at the stab of agony.

‘God, it hurts,’ she gasps. ‘Please, Geoff, it hurts so much! We used to be there to patch each other up, didn’t we? Right back in the beginning. We’d hold each other through the pain when it was just us against the world. Now you have so many better people to hold you.’

She pants, fast and shallow, unable to make her chest expand any further.

‘Just us against the world,’ she whispers to herself, thinking of their first, fumbling attempts to make something of themselves. So long ago, when she had so much energy. She’s always tired now. She can’t remember the last time when she didn’t feel tired. 

Jack can’t see the ocean anymore, tears blurring everything into a smooth expanse of blue.

Her laboured breaths are loud in her ears as her eyes slip closed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsay is a goddamned hero, but some wounds are slow to heal.

The post-heist party is in full-swing when Lindsay walks out of the elevator.

Michael cheers and makes grabby hands at her, but she only stops for long enough to bend down and peck him on the cheek. She’s on a mission.

‘Can I talk to you?’ she says to Geoff, stopping in front of him where he’s sprawled in his chair like an indolent king. He’s loose-limbed and grinning, but his eyes are bright. He’s not too drunk to listen.

‘You as well,’ Lindsay says, crooking a finger at Ryan.

Geoff straightens up, frowning.

‘Can’t this wait?’ he asks. ‘It’s Christmas Eve! We’re having a party.’

‘No, it can’t fucking wait,’ Lindsay snaps, letting anger break through her calm facade.

That gets Geoff’s attention. Lindsay is close to them, but she’s still always respectful of her boss.

‘Alright,’ he says, getting to his feet and signalling Ryan to follow them.

They go into the sound-proof heist room, its walls still covered in maps and blueprints for the job they’ve just pulled off. Gavin has doodled Santa hats and Christmas trees all around their edges in honour of the season.

‘Where’s Jack?’ Lindsay asks, as soon as the door is closed behind them.

Geoff frowns. ‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘Doesn’t that bother you?’ Lindsay asks. ‘You haven’t heard from her since the heist, have you?’

‘No, but that’s normal,’ Geoff says. ‘We could see her from the helicopter. She got in her car and drove away. We know she got out okay.’

‘Do you?’ Lindsay says, her voice tight with anger. ‘You couldn’t hear her over the noise of the chopper, could you?’

‘She knows to talk loudly when we’re in the air. Christ, she’s not an amateur!’ Geoff says, and he’s beginning to sound annoyed. ‘Lindsay, what the fuck is this about?’

‘I listen to your comms so I know if Michael’s okay, and I was still listening after you left the scene today,’ Lindsay says sharply, pulling out her phone and cueing up an audio file. ‘Here’s a little sample of what I heard.’

It’s just Jack’s audio, the racket of the helicopter cut away. There’s engine noise for a moment, a powerful car roaring as Jack escapes the police. The pop and crack of bullets hitting the car is shockingly loud.

Jack makes a sudden, punched out noise.

‘I’m hit,’ she gasps, barely audible even on the cleaned up recording.

Ryan startles. Geoff’s fists clench.

There’s engine noise and laboured, wet-sounding breathing for what is probably only thirty seconds but feels like forever, then the recording cuts.

‘That was right after you left,’ Lindsay says mercilessly. ‘She kept driving until she was sure she wasn’t being tailed, then pulled over on the coast. This is about twenty minutes later.’

There’s no engine noise, only painful, ragged breathing.

‘I don’t know why I wasn’t good enough,’ Jack says, her voice thick with tears, wracked with pain. ‘I promise I tried, but I was never good enough, was I? I only ever wanted the best for you, and if that means Ryan, not me, then I understand.’ She stops for a moment, struggling for breath. ‘I understand that I’m supposed to die. That’s okay, there’s nothing left for me to do. He’ll keep you safe, Geoff.’ 

There’s the sound of Jack shifting, then a cut-off cry of pain.

Geoff looks like Lindsay is driving a knife into his guts as he listens.

‘God, it hurts,’ Jack gasps out. ‘Please, Geoff, it hurts so much! We used to be there to patch each other up, didn’t we? Right back in the beginning. We’d hold each other through the pain when it was just us against the world. Now you have so many better people to hold you.’

Geoff buries his face in his hands. 

Jack is panting, shallow and desperate, her breaths too fast and wet. 

‘Just us against the world,’ Jack says brokenly, and lapses into silence.

Lindsay stops the recording and waits, glaring at them both.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Ryan says, low and angry. ‘Why would you make us listen to that, Lindsay? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘Me? Fuck off, Ryan, what’s wrong with you?’ Lindsay snaps back. ‘How is it that you’re paying so little attention that you didn’t even notice Jack was gone? Why did she think she wasn’t good enough? Who did she mean by better people than her? There’s no one better than her! For fuck’s sake, she says she was meant to die today! What the hell is going on?’

Geoff breaks their glaring stand-off by sliding down the wall, landing on his backside with a thud.

His hands are wrapped tightly around his chest, and he lets out a wounded, animal noise. He leans his head back against the wall, and there are tears pouring from his eyes.

‘Jack, please, please,’ he sobs. There’s no trace of poise, no sign of the restrained and elegant mob boss except the crumpled tuxedo. He looks like a man who has just lost his entire world.

Lindsay stares down at him, wondering how the hell things have got so bad.

‘What was wrong with Jack?’ she asks. ‘Why did she say those things?’

Ryan looks at Geoff, but it’s clear there’ll be no answers from him. He’s completely shut down, sobbing without any attempt to stem the flow of tears.

‘We knew she was withdrawing,’ he says slowly. ‘We just thought she wanted space. Geoff started giving her more small, solo jobs, more time to herself. There are plenty of people in the crew now, and Jack was always working so hard, even though she was obviously tired. She’d come home and go straight to bed almost every night. She didn’t even stay up to have dinner with us. It made sense to pass some of her work to other people.’

‘And then she taught you to fly,’ Lindsay prompts.

Ryan swallows hard. ‘Yeah, I was just supposed to be a back-up pilot. This heist was a test to see if it would work if we ever had to heist without Jack. We planned the whole thing without her, and I was the rescue pilot. We put her on cop duty at the last minute because Kdin broke his arm.’

‘Clearly the heist worked. Maybe you don’t need her,’ Lindsay says, twisting the knife a little.

Ryan’s face crumples. ‘We could probably get by without any single member of the crew, if we had to. We’ve managed without Ray, lately, but that doesn’t mean we _want_ to do it. We’re stronger together. Lindsay, why are you doing this? Look at him,’ he says, gesturing at Geoff in his huddled ball on the floor. ‘It sounds like we fucked up somewhere, but isn’t losing her enough?’

‘I picked her up by the lake after the last big heist,’ Lindsay says quietly. ‘She was soaked to the bone and bleeding, but her first concern was that I would be angry about her ruining the seat of my car. That’s some fucked up thinking. Did you even know she’d been shot that time, either?’

Ryan’s devastated face is answer enough.

‘She was late picking us up, said she’d had trouble. She never said anything more than that. My first flying lesson was the next day.’

Lindsay nods. ‘See, that’s interesting. Why did you say “my first flying lesson”, not “Jack started teaching me” or “I asked Jack to teach me”? Doesn’t it matter that it was her who taught you?’

Ryan frowns. ‘Of course it matters.’

‘Did she know that?’ Lindsay asks, beginning to piece together how things have gone so badly wrong. ‘Did she know she was being given less work to help her, not because she couldn’t be trusted to do it properly? Did she know that you were her backup, not her replacement?’

‘She never said anything,’ Ryan says, sounding horrified. ‘We thought it was obvious.’

Lindsay nods, sympathy for the man beginning to tug at her heart. ‘I think Jack has been miserable for a long time,’ she suggests. ‘Every time you ignored her, every time you assumed she was fine, she took it as proof she wasn’t wanted, and drew further away, and you let her go because you thought she wanted space. It’s a vicious cycle.’

‘That heist was months ago,’ Ryan says. ‘And she was quiet for months before that. Jesus, how long did she think we didn’t care?’ 

Geoff’s sobbing redoubles at the idea that Jack has been desperately unhappy for so long.

Lindsay looks down at him, pitying the broken man even as she resents him for being the careless cause of Jack’s misery. 

‘None of you idiots talk to each other properly, that’s the problem,’ she says with a sigh. 

Ryan looks utterly wretched, reconsidering months of interactions with Jack, remembering how much work she did in comparison to how many thanks she received. They’d all got used to her ghosting through their lives, solving problems and withdrawing again.

‘The whole time she was teaching me, she thought I was taking her place, and she did it anyway,’ he mutters. ‘She never said a word.’

‘She thought Geoff wanted you instead, thought you could be better than she was,’ Lindsay says, waving her phone and its recording as evidence. ‘What would be the point of refusing to teach you?’

‘She wanted the best for the crew,’ Ryan says slowly.

‘For Geoff,’ Lindsay agrees. ‘They’ve been together for so long, and she’s always just wanted to protect him.’

Ryan drops his head into his hands, breathing hard for a moment.

‘We fucked up so badly,’ he says, in a muffled voice. ‘God, why couldn’t we see this before she was gone?’

Lindsay folds her arms. ‘I never said she was gone.’

Ryan’s head snaps up so fast he must give himself whiplash.

‘What?’ he demands. ‘Are you saying Jack’s alive?’

Geoff gasps at that, and reaches out to grab the leg of Lindsay’s pants.

‘Jack’s alive?’ he asks, in the breathless tone of a beggar asking for a miracle.

‘I heard her say she was hit, and Caleb and I started driving as soon as we had a GPS lock on her car. We got to her not long after that second recording ended,’ Lindsay admits. ‘She’s badly hurt, but Caleb got her stabilised, then took her into surgery as soon as they could. They cut three bullets out of her back, but unless there are complications she’s going to live.’

‘Where is she?’ Geoff demands, clutching at Lindsay’s leg so hard she almost falls.

‘You’re sick,’ Ryan snarls. ‘Why would you let us believe she was dead?’

‘Because you needed to know what you could lose!’ Lindsay snaps. ‘She thought you _wanted_ her to die. That’s fucked up! I had to know that you weren’t hurting her deliberately. If you hadn’t shown that you cared, I was going to help Jack disappear, make sure you couldn’t fucking hurt her again!’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Geoff swears. ‘I’d never hurt her.’

‘You’ve been hurting her for months,’ Lindsay points out. She’s more than willing to be cruel if it means Jack won’t have to suffer any more.

‘I know, I know that now,’ Geoff moans. ‘I promise you, I didn’t realise how she felt. Please, just tell us where she is.’

‘Caleb has her at the Vinewood clinic,’ Lindsay tells him. She bends down and grabs Geoff by the shoulders, looking her boss in the eye. ‘You’d better fucking fix this, Geoff,’ she warns him. ‘Jack loves you, and you’ve all been taking her for granted, leaving her out in the cold. It has to stop.’

‘It stops today,’ Geoff promises.

Lindsay hauls him to his feet, and he staggers to the door, not stopping to fix his suit or wipe his eyes.

He throws the door open, letting the noise of the crew rush back.

‘Party’s over!’ he shouts.

Lindsay and Ryan follow him out, seeing Michael, Gavin and Jeremy freeze with drinks in their hands, confused by his wrecked appearance. 

Ryan reaches over and turns off the music. 

The crew stays silent and waits for orders.

‘Jack’s been shot,’ Geoff tells them, and there’s an immediate outburst of dismay and anger.

‘What the fuck?’ Michael demands. ‘Who shot her?’

‘Is she okay?’ Gavin asks.

‘She was shot during the heist today, and none of us noticed!’ Geoff shouts, his voice rising with every word. ‘When’s the last fucking time any of us paid attention to Jack?’

His crew stare at him, open mouthed and guilty.

‘We’re all here getting wasted, and none of us thought to check that Jack was okay. If Lindsay hadn’t been listening to our comms, she’d be dead!’

‘So she’s alive?’ Gavin says, sounding immensely relieved.

‘She had three bullets in her back, for fuck’s sake,’ Geoff howls, sounding agonised at the very thought. ‘And she thought we wanted her to die!’

‘Why?’ Jeremy asks, looking appalled.

‘She taught me to fly,’ Ryan says, deliberately flat. ‘So obviously we don’t need her anymore.’

Gavin makes a loud, outraged noise. ‘None of us think that!’

‘No, but she does,’ Lindsay says. ‘She’s been unhappy for a long time, and the more you’ve left her alone, the worse it’s got.’

‘Starting right now, Jack is priority one,’ Geoff orders. ‘And I don’t mean just until she’s out of the clinic, or until she’s better. Jack is _always_ priority one. We would be fucking _nothing_ without her, and we’re going to make damn sure she knows that. Is that clear?’

There’s an immediate chorus of agreement. It gives Lindsay hope to hear it, but it remains to be seen whether it will be enough.

‘It won’t be easy,’ she warns them. ‘It’s going to take a long time for her to believe anything good you say about her.’

‘Then we’ll keep telling her,’ Michael says firmly.

‘We’re going to Vinewood. Everyone get your shit together,’ Geoff orders. ‘Be prepared to cancel your Christmas plans and spend a lot of time in hospital, because there’s going to be someone there 24/7 until Jack comes home.’

~

Jack doesn’t expect to wake up. She isn’t sure she wants to. She remembers closing her eyes beside the ocean, and when she opens them again and sees the beige walls and pale wood of a hospital room, there’s a terrible rush of disappointment.

She’s lying on her side, facing the heart monitor, and the steady, muted beep feels like failure.

 _Can’t even die when I’m supposed to,_ she thinks, and tries to curl in on herself, her chest aching.

She doesn’t manage to move much before the searing pain in her back brings her up short.

She must have cried out, because there is suddenly someone walking around the bed, a hand taking hers.

Geoff kneels down beside her, his sleepy eyes bloodshot and teary.

‘Hey, Jack,’ he says, and there’s so much grief in his voice that it hurts to hear it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack says, and wishes she could turn away. She closes her eyes instead, still hoping that she won’t have to open them again. God, she’s so tired.

‘Don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong,’ Geoff says, and he sounds like he’s been crying for hours, his voice thin and scratchy. ‘Fuck, I’m the one who has to apologise. We should have been watching out for you.’

‘I should be able to do my job,’ Jack murmurs.

Geoff gives a broken little chuckle. ‘You always do, and then you do everyone else’s jobs as well. You do so much for us, and we’ve got used to it. We stopped noticing, and I’m so sorry.’

Jack can’t think of anything to say to that. It doesn’t make sense. She does what she can, but that’s been less and less recently. The crew doesn’t need her. 

She stays quiet, feeling Geoff’s thumb stroking over the back of her hand. It feels so nice to have that small point of contact, but she can’t quite let herself enjoy it. Geoff is surely already pissed that she’s taking up his time, and when she’s finished being a pathetic lump in a hospital bed, there will be no more gentle touches. It’s best not to get used to them.

Geoff sits in silence with her, his thumb stroking over and over the back of her hand, and she’s quietly surprised that he’s still there by the time she falls asleep. 

~

She wakes up alone. No one responds when she croaks a hello to the room. That should be entirely expected, but Geoff’s brief presence had given her hope, and there is nothing more dangerous than hope.

She is sore and stiff and desperately thirsty, and she still can’t move. Her fingers and toes all respond when she flexes them, so at least she knows they’re still working, but she can’t manage to move much more than that before pain pins her in place.

 _Perhaps I died after all,_ she thinks, with grim amusement. She’s never really believed in heaven or hell, but if they’re real, she knows where she’s going. Being trapped in a hospital bed while thirst claws at her throat and pain sinks its teeth into her back sounds like a pretty effective eternal torment. A phantom Geoff saying he cares and then disappearing is just the icing on the infernal cake.

She is almost asleep again when she hears the door open, and Geoff comes in, finishing a conversation.

‘No, tell them it’s fifty grand, and not a fucking cent less. I have to go. Just sort it, okay?’ His phone beeps as he hangs up, and he sighs heavily.

Jack hears him walk around the bed and flop into a chair. She keeps her eyes closed, not sure if he’s really there, or _why_ he’s there. In her current state, she’s not useful to him.

‘You were doing more work than we ever realised,’ Geoff muses, apparently to himself. ‘Christ, I hate dealing with the Colombians. I wondered why I hadn’t had to meet them in a while. You were doing it instead.’

‘If you didn’t know I was doing a job, you wouldn’t take it from me,’ Jack croaks, stung into speaking. 

Geoff audibly startles, his chair creaking.

‘I was trying to help. If I fucked it up, I’m sorry,’ Jack says.

‘Of course you didn’t fuck it up,’ Geoff says at once. ‘You ran that whole deal so smoothly I barely knew about it.’

Jack nods slightly, feeling the pillow brush against her face. She hopes Geoff doesn’t think she was trying to double-deal behind his back, but she’s a little bit proud of her good work anyway.

Geoff is quiet for a minute, then he sighs.

‘I’ve made such a fucking mess of things,’ he admits. ‘For so long, you were the only person I had. You were my other half, my partner in crime. And then, as we expanded, and we found the rest of the crew, I stopped spending time with you. I thought it didn’t matter, because of course you knew how important you were, but now I’m trying to think of the last time I actually _told_ you how much you mean to me. I can’t even remember.’

‘You’re busy. There are far more important things to remember,’ Jack says quietly. There’s an ache in her chest that feels like tears, feels like far too much time spent wishing for Geoff to speak kindly to her. Now it’s actually happening, she can’t quite believe it’s real.

‘No, there’s nothing on Earth more important than you,’ Geoff says. He reaches out, the rustle of his clothes telegraphing his movements, and takes Jack’s hand again. His palm is warm, and Jack curls her fingers into it instinctively.

‘You’re so good at taking care of me,’ Geoff says softly. ‘I somehow stopped noticing the hundreds of things you got right, and only mentioned the times when something went wrong. It must have felt like nothing you did was ever enough.’ His breath catches, and Jack thinks he might be crying.

‘And I’m the boss, aren’t I? So everyone took their cue from me, and then there were half a dozen of us ignoring all the good things you were doing and being assholes about the mistakes.’

‘I make too many mistakes,’ Jack murmurs.

Geoff lets out a sob. ‘Jack, you’re human. Shit happens, and a lot of the time it’s stuff that was out of your control. Lindsay told me you were late to pick us up on the last heist because you got shot.’

Jack tilts her head again. ‘Just my left arm. I’m okay.’

Geoff shifts closer, pushes up the sleeve of her hospital gown a few inches. The scar is red and angry, a jagged patch of puckered tissue in the pale, freckled skin of her arm. Jack knows it’s ugly.

‘You never said anything,’ Geoff says, sounding devastated.

‘I was already late. You were mad at me,’ Jack points out.

‘God, I’m a fucking asshole,’ Geoff says, with another hitching sob. ‘Yeah, I was angry because we’d been getting shot at. I didn’t realise you were late because you’d already gotten shot!’

He’s quiet for a minute, trying to get his tears under control.

‘Please, Jack, don’t hide injuries like that,’ he begs. ‘Even if I’m being an asshole. No matter what, I never, ever want to see you get hurt. I’ll call off the score of a lifetime because you have a stubbed toe, I don’t even care. You’re so much more important than any job.’

Jack doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Geoff lives for the rush of a heist. They all do, and as nice as his words are, she doesn’t believe him.

‘The Santa hats were a nice touch,’ she murmurs, for lack of anything better to say.

Geoff laughs thickly. ‘Yeah they were. Merry Christmas, right?’

Jack’s gut clenches. She hasn’t considered the date since she woke up. Unless she’s been asleep longer than she thinks, it must be Christmas Day, and here Geoff is wasting his time at her hospital bed. He must be furious.

‘You should go home, Geoff,’ she says, trying to let go of his hand. ‘You have Christmas plans, right? You’re cooking for everyone.’

Geoff squeezes her fingers more tightly, refusing to let go. ‘I don’t give a fuck about Christmas dinner,’ he says hotly. ‘None of us do. How could we celebrate without you?’

Jack laughs at that, a small, bitter chuckle. ‘Why change old habits?’ she asks, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. ‘Sorry, never mind, that was a bitchy thing to say.’

Geoff is quiet for a long time, and Jack wishes she could disappear. She’s glad she’s kept her eyes shut. She knows she couldn’t handle whatever disgusted look Geoff is giving her.

‘You’re right,’ Geoff says at last. ‘We haven’t been including you.’

‘It’s fine, I haven’t been good company anyway,’ Jack says.

‘No one is when they don’t think they’re wanted,’ Geoff says. ‘This isn’t your fault, Jack.’

Jack is trying to think of a response that isn’t just her gut reaction of “Yes it is” when there’s a knock on the door.

‘Hey, Jack,’ Steffie says quietly. ‘I’m just coming to do a check-up. I can give you two a bit more time if you need it.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jack says, glad of the interruption. The whole conversation with Geoff has her guts twisted in knots, relief and love and desperation all warring inside her. She wants so badly to believe the kind things he says, but she’s spent too long living with actions that tell her the opposite.

Steffie is gentle and efficient, checking Jack’s bandages and the drains keeping fluid out of her lungs. She enlists Geoff’s help to get Jack rolled over onto her other side, moving her slowly and carefully to keep the pain to a minimum.

It hurts like knives in her back anyway, and Jack fights to breathe evenly, resenting her own bulk as Geoff has to haul her around. It’s humiliating to have him touch her, and she’s sure that once upon a time she wouldn’t have minded at all, but things are different now. For months Geoff has been sharp-tongued and distant, more her boss than her old friend. He shouldn’t be seeing her like this.

‘Do you need anything, honey?’ Steffie asks, when she’s got Jack’s IV lines lying neatly over her shoulder again.

‘Can I have some water?’ Jack asks. She couldn’t bring herself to bother Geoff, but Steffie is a nurse. She’s used to demanding patients.

‘Sure,’ Steffie says. ‘You’re on IV fluids, so don’t worry about drinking a lot, but it’s nice to wet your mouth, isn’t it?’

Steffie brings her a cup of water with a straw, and cautions her to sip it slowly.

The first taste of water is like spring rain on her parched tongue, and Jack lets out an involuntary noise of relief.

‘Geoff, can you make sure she has water when she wants it?’ Steffie says. ‘The cooler is just down the hall.’

‘I know where it is,’ Geoff says. He sounds guilty, but Jack doesn’t know why.

Lying on her other side, Jack can see the door of her room, and she finds relief from tension that she hadn’t even realised she was carrying. If Steffie is her nurse, she’s in one of Caleb’s little network of clinics, so she has no doubt she’s safe, but it’s still old habit to keep an eye on the exits.

Geoff sits down just to the side of the door, on the edge of her line of sight, and despite it all it helps to know that he’s keeping watch.

He doesn’t try to continue their conversation, just sits quietly, his chin resting pensively in his hand, and Jack can’t decipher the look on his face as they watch each other.

 _He looks older,_ Jack thinks, and it’s an uncomfortable realisation. They are neither of them as young as they used to be.

~

Geoff is still there the following morning, slumped down in the chair and snoring softly. Jack lies and watches him for a while, fondness tugging at her chest. He’s always looked vulnerable and open in his sleep, and it makes her even more determined to do whatever it takes to protect him. 

He jerks awake with a snort when the door opens, one hand going under his jacket for his gun.

Caleb and Ryan walk in together, and it amuses Jack that they’re both wearing their blond hair in very similar buns, but their white coat and black leather jacket are entirely at odds.

‘Easy, Geoff,’ Caleb says, raising their hands in a calming gesture. They’ve worked for the criminal element of Los Santos for years, and they’re more than used to dealing with twitchy gangsters.

Geoff blinks a few times, then huffs and puts his gun away.

‘Hey Jack,’ Ryan says, smiling at her as though he’s genuinely happy she’s alive. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘I’m fine,’ Jack says. ‘Everyone doing okay?’

Ryan nods. ‘Yeah, they’re all good. Gavin is lurking around, if you want to see him. I sent the others home overnight.’

‘You can all go home,’ Jack says, uncomfortable with how much she’s putting them out.

‘Not until you do,’ Ryan says firmly.

Jack sighs. ‘I don’t know how long that’ll take.’

Caleb clears their throat. ‘At least two weeks, I’m afraid. You were lucky enough not to take any damage to your spinal column, but you had a bullet lodged in your right lung, and two of your ribs are entirely held together with surgical wire. I want to monitor you closely for post traumatic pneumonia, and keep an eye on your nutritional intake.’

‘Why?’ Jack asks, burning with shame. She knows she’s overweight, but Caleb’s never seemed to think it was terribly important before. ‘Have I put on that much weight?’

Caleb shakes their head at once. ‘No, not at all. You carry some extra weight, yes, but it hasn’t ever affected your health. I’m concerned that you’re malnourished, Jack.’

Jack laughs at that, a full bodied guffaw that she can’t restrain despite how much her back hurts. She’s way too fat to be starving.

Caleb isn’t laughing. They fold their arms and stare Jack down, immediately guessing the cause of her scepticism. ‘I’m absolutely serious. It’s entirely possible for someone to have plenty of fat stores but be lacking in other nutrients. We did a Complete Blood Cell count, and you’re severely anaemic. Combined with the amount of blood you’ve lost, I’m sure you can see how dangerous that is.’

‘So, what, I’m short on iron?’

Caleb nods. ‘That’s part of it. You have fewer red blood cells than you should, which also means your oxygen levels are low, and you’re going to heal more slowly. Have you noticed that you’ve been tired recently?’

Jack thinks back to the days that seemed to drag on forever, to the evenings where she fell into bed before it was even dark and woke up still exhausted in the morning.

‘Yeah,’ she says.

‘The transfusions you’ve had since you came in will help in the short term, but we need to make sure you get plenty of nutrients going forward. What have you been eating?’

Jack has to pause and think about it. She doesn’t really remember.

‘Energy bars,’ Ryan says, while she’s still trying to think. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw Jack eat anything that wasn’t one of those gross protein bars.’

Caleb pulls a face. ‘Really? Those things are the worst. All calories and no goodness.’ They turn to Geoff, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Have you forgotten how to cook? You always used to feed your crew, didn’t you?’

‘It’s not his fault,’ Jack says defensively.

‘I still cook, most days. Jack hasn’t been eating with us,’ Geoff says, sounding pained.

‘Geoff isn’t my mother, I can look after myself,’ Jack says.

‘Sure you can,’ Caleb says, managing to only sound _slightly_ patronising. ‘You just need to make sure, from now on, that looking after yourself includes eating proper food.’

‘It’s going to,’ Geoff says, so intensely that it sounds almost like a threat.

Caleb talks for a while longer about healing times and long-term expectations and mineral supplements, but Jack is mostly distracted by Geoff’s face. He looks somewhere between furious and grief-stricken, brows furrowed and eyes wet, his mouth set in a hard line, and it hurts Jack just to look at him.

She’s almost certain that Geoff is going to start shouting as soon as Caleb leaves, and when the door swings shut behind the doctor, she braces herself.

To her surprise, Geoff just slumps further down in his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face.

‘We didn’t even notice,’ he says quietly. ‘Jack, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s not your job to take care of me,’ Jack says, confused.

‘But it’s your job to take care of us, right?’ Ryan says.

‘Of course it is.’

Geoff laughs hollowly. ‘It used to go both ways, Jack. That shouldn’t have changed just because the crew is more than just you and me now.’

Jack’s chest is beginning to ache again, a hollow, cold feeling that is somehow worse than the hot pain in her back.

‘You don’t need me for anything else,’ she says, low and desperate. ‘I just didn’t want to have to leave.’

‘You'll never have to leave! It’s your crew too!’ Geoff bursts out.

‘We will always need you,’ Ryan says fiercely. ‘I heard what you said, about me being better for Geoff than you – it doesn’t work that way! I’m an addition, not a replacement.’ 

‘I just want him to have the best people watching his back,’ Jack says.

‘So do I,’ Ryan promises, looking her earnestly in the eye. He looks like a puppy, eager to do good and be praised. It’s impossible not to believe him. ‘I’m good at what I do, but you’re amazing too, Jack. Why shouldn’t we work together? We can do so much more with both of us watching Geoff’s back.’

‘If you want to work with me, I guess so,’ Jack agrees hesitantly. ‘As long as I’m actually useful.’

Geoff sobs suddenly, drawing her eyes away from Ryan. He looks wrecked, face red and blotchy. 

‘Fuck useful,’ he chokes out. ‘I guess it’s hard to believe after how much of a shit I’ve been, but I care about you,’ he says thickly, tears leaking down his cheeks. ‘Not how useful you are, but _you_.’

‘I love you, Geoff,’ Jack says, stating it as a simple fact. It’s the easiest thing she’s said all day. ‘This is a dangerous way of life, we all know that, and I’m terrified of watching you die because I wasn’t good enough. I know most of my jobs have gone to better people, and that’s good, but I still have to do what I can.’

‘You do more than enough,’ Geoff says, wiping his streaming eyes. ‘You don’t understand – I started spreading out your workload to give you more time to relax and enjoy what we’ve built. I didn’t do it because you weren’t good enough. Please, you have to know that I’ve never thought that.’

Jack is silent, trying to fit that information into her worldview. It’s an awkward fit, edges catching against too many nights spent lying awake, worrying about her dwindling usefulness.

Geoff watches her, seeing the struggle written on her face and tearing up all over again.

‘Things have got so fucked up,’ he says. ‘We never wanted you to leave, or to fucking _die_ , Jesus Christ, never that! We never wanted to push you away, but we thought you wanted time to yourself, and so we let you drift, left you out of dinners and movie nights and stupid day-trips to the pier. I wish we hadn’t. I can see now how it must have looked to you.’

Watching Geoff cry feels awful, even as the things he’s saying are a balm to wounds she’s been carrying for far too long. Jack’s throat is thick with emotion, and she has to clear it before she can speak. 

‘It’s fine. I never asked you to include me.’

‘You shouldn’t have to,’ Ryan says. ‘You won’t have to in future. We’re all going to pay attention, I promise.’

‘You’re the heart of the crew,’ Geoff says, in a wobbling voice. ‘Thank fucking god for Lindsay getting help to you in time, and kicking us into remembering that. I owe her more than I can ever repay.’

Jack thinks of her last, heartbroken radio transmission, and realises Lindsay must have been listening. She’s ashamed to think that such a bubbly young woman overheard her despair, but at the same time she thinks perhaps she’s grateful. It sounds like things might finally get better, so maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have been better if she’d died on the roadside after all.

‘You’re the Queen of the Fake AH, and we’re damn well going to treat you like it. I swear to you, you won’t be left alone again,’ Geoff says. ‘Please, Jack, we just want you to get better and come home with us.’

‘I know the lads all want to see you, too,’ Ryan says. ‘Gavin especially. As soon as you’re healed up a bit, you’re going to have to get used to Gavin basically being a lap-cat for a while.’

Jack smiles slightly at that. The Brit is notoriously cuddly, and she’s missed his clingy affection more than she can say.

Ryan sees her smile and grins. ‘Hey, smiles, smiles are good, right? I think things have sucked for you for far too long, but I promise they’re going to be better now. It’s probably going to be hard to make yourself believe that we mean it, but we need you, and we love you. Until that sinks in, can you just trust me that it’s true?’

Jack looks at Geoff, his teary eyes fixed on her, and remembers how long they’ve been together, how much they’ve survived. She looks at Ryan, the sincere and joyful man she’s never been able to dislike, even when she believed he was replacing her. She thinks of Gavin’s clingy affection, of Michael’s fierce protectiveness and Jeremy’s open respect. 

For so long, it has felt like they never noticed her unless something went wrong, but now they’re all paying attention. She isn’t being replaced, isn’t going to have to leave. It’s going to take time for her wariness to fade, for the habits of solitude to give way to being part of their group again, but at least she can believe that perhaps they want her company after all.

Geoff swears that she won’t be left out again, and she knows that if Geoff is giving his word, the whole crew will keep it. They’ll never ignore her again.

Jack looks at Geoff and Ryan and smiles, feeling hope for the first time in months.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I trust you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this got long. I know it's not a full fix and there's still a lot of healing to do, but these things take a long time. I just wanted to get to a point where there's hope for the future.  
> I made a couple of continuity edits to the first chapter, but it hasn't changed much. If you read this when it was just the pain, thank you for coming back!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic happened because Ryanthepowerbottomguy called for Gents-centric hurt/comfort. I absolutely intend to deliver on some comfort after this, I promise, but this ended up being so gut-wrenching to write that I wanted to post it on its own just for a little while. Enjoy the pain, my friends!


End file.
